


You make me want to remember

by o0_Kiyomitsu_0o



Series: Times we met but didn't know [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Flashbacks, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kinda protective Bucky Barnes, M/M, Memory struggle, Nick Fury is probably cursing on the passenger seat, Peggy Carter (mentioned) - Freeform, Steve Rogers (mentioned) - Freeform, The asset has feels, Tony Stark is a mechanic through and through, Tony Stark is hot without even trying to, Torture, Violence, some comfort lots of hurt, the assets point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o/pseuds/o0_Kiyomitsu_0o
Summary: The asset gets assigned for another mission that requires his skills as a sniper.A hide-out in the desert. A car on it's way to a secret base. The target inside. One shot.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Times we met but didn't know [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184354
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	You make me want to remember

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for your interest in reading my story (^w^)
> 
> Before you continue, please note that I'm neither an native English- nor an native Russian-speaker aaaand I didn't have a Beta-reader to sort through my mistakes, so please excuse my grammar and my spelling.
> 
> I still hope you enjoy your time here (^w^)7
> 
> Translations at the end (I used an online-translator, please correct me if the internet betrayed me Ó.ò)
> 
> Even if it doesn't look like it, I really love both character, I swear! At some point I want to see them happy.
> 
> If you notice anything, please let me know so I can correct it right away (n.n)

It had been three days. Three days since the asset had been woken up. Three days since stiff, shivering muscles had been torn out of their set up positions in the narrow tube and forced to life again. Three days since the asset had been thrown into a helicarrier that brought him out of Siberia’s cold. 

Two days since he had set foot on sandy ground in the middle of the desert. Two days since he had set up the inconspicuous hideout on one of the rock plateaus lining an unpaved road. Two days of waiting underneath the burning sun of the Sonora desert. By then the asset was painfully familiar with the rocky path, the curve, where the target would appear. The exact location he would halt. The spot on the ground where the bullet would inter the earth after tearing through the targets head. 

It was an almost completely abandoned piece of earth. The asset didn’t mind. No people around meant less risks to the mission. The only sign of life was a small town a few miles ahead, with more car wrecks and empty barns, than breathing humans living there. 

The asset replayed his handlers order once more, while checking the riffle for the twenties time. The desert dust clinging to it more with every passing hour, so the asset cleaned it again and again. His weapon had to be in at its best condition. He had an almost perfect aim, but the shot he was about to aim didn’t leave him any room to take chances. 

Hydra had retrieved the information, that some of the political world leaders would gather at a secret base in the middle of the desert, the one the asset was currently stationed at. His target had been the initiator of the gathering and head of one of the biggest Intel gathering organizations of the world knew about. 

Hydra had infiltrated Shield long before the target had started to climb through the ranks he had been tolerated as calculated risk, but the moment the target had started to act out of those calculations Hydra had sprung to action. They didn’t know what it was the target planned to present to the world most influential leaders, but Intel was sure he was trying to set up a new team. Something along the lines of a 'last defense against threats to humanity'.

It was something an organization like Hydra couldn’t tolerate within their greater scheme. As soon as a chance presented itself the assets mission was sent out: Eliminate target Nicholas Joseph Fury.

Since the precautions Shield took to secure the surroundings were high and the risk of getting caught being so close to their secret base was even higher the asset had spent the better part of the past days hidden underneath a camouflage tarpaulin. 

The asset shifted in his lying position. Even without the sun burning directly onto the black leather gear he had been provided for the mission, the asset could feel sweat pooling in the dip if his lower back. The dampness spreading between the thick fabric and the assets skin was starting to get uncomfortable. The cover providing only marginal relive. 

The sun continued her path, eyeing the tarp from the morning's east to the midday's south. The asset was already calculating his chances of getting spotted, if he were to shift his position once more, but the sound of an engine in the distance halted the thought. He followed the black van appearing at the curvy road through the rifles scope. 

During the missions briefing his handler had given precise instructions. The van was double reinforced with steel and bullet-proofed glass. The extra weight slowing the vehicle down and deep traces in the deserts dust just another confirmation of what the handler had mentioned. A bomb wouldn’t do damage to the cars shell to reach the passenger, a shot through the glass was impossible, leaving the asset with only one option. The target had to leave the van for him to get a clear shoot.

It was easy enough to put a bullet through the right front tire, forcing the van to a halt. Ingrained muscle memory had the asset reloaded the riffle immediately, resuming his position. As soon as the target left the car, he would take the shot, eliminate the target, activate the transponder his handler had given him to inform them over the take out.

The tires stopped moving. The stifling heat burning away every other sound as the van’s door clicked open. The asset let out a long, controlled breath, before holding it completely. The metal hand steady on the riffle to avoid any vibration, when the asset reached for the trigger, ready to pull and finish his mission. 

Like it had been burned by metal the assets finger snapped back from the riffle, when instead of the target a short man scrambled out of the driver’s seat and around the van. The asset kept his eyes trained on the driver, who scratched his head, while gesturing into the van’s direction, probably, since the target didn’t seem willing to leave the vehicle. 

Trough the scope the asset could make out snugly fit jeans and an old shirt as well as an unruly mop of soft curled brown hair the short man was shaking. A frown marrying the man’s forehead as he kneeled down to take in damage. 

To the assets further surprise the short man walked around the car towards the back of the trunk, where he started to rummage through various boxes and cases. Even with enhanced senses in the silence of the desert, the short brunet was too far away for the asset to hear what he was saying, but seeing the grimace and the quick way those plush lips moved, it looked like a string of curses flying through the flickering air.

One after another the spare tire, the jack and some wrenches were placed next to the ruined front tire. The lean muscles tensing with every lift and drop creating an intriguing rhythm the asst found himself tracing with an intensity, that surprised himself. 

The assent blinked a few times, to clear his vision. The mission was yet to be cleared. He resumed his aimed at the mechanic. The brunet had to be a mechanic, if the natural way the short man was handling the car parts was anything to go by. The asset calculated the chance of getting to the target. Humans tend to get bored and start wandering, so maybe the target would get out of the van as well, otherwise the asset would have to lure him out, but somehow the thought of shooting the mechanic didn’t sit right with him.

The asset kept his gaze fixed on the still grumbling man crouching in front of the broken tire. He was fit. The threat-bare shirt lifting up enough to offer glimpses of tanned skin, a vein popping up on trained forearms showing of years of experience. No movement wasted. The asset could appreciate the efficiency in the field. 

The nimble fingers had the jack set up in no time. With a few forceful pulls and pushes of the handle the van began to shift to the side, granting the huffing brunet better access to the shot tire. The late noon’s sun was burning down on the working mechanic, who had to wipe away the sweat running down his temples. Dirt and oil-stains already marring the brunet’s cheeks, that had started to redden with the effort of wrenching the nuts loose. 

The asset watched in fascination how the short man pulled the tire off and placed it on the far side of the car, before lifting the spare one back into place. The constant flow of words never ebbing down and the asset found himself tracing the mobile face going through a constant change of expression through his scope. He had never seen someone, who showed his thoughts and emotions so freely, the concept alien since it would give away any element of surprise or deception. 

The only expressions the asset had gotten painfully familiar with, were his handler’s frowns, whether they had been out of anger, disappointment or hate towards the asset, he never knew. Those would lead to aching bruises, open cuts or deprivation of senses, sometimes all the combined depending on his handler’s mood. 

His targets on the other hand, at least those of them, who had seen him before the final blow was delivered, had been nothing but fear. Their faces contorted in frantic horror and pain. The assets own schooled into a blank expressionless mask. He had been trained not to show his thoughts, never mind his emotions, some of the scars on his back and shoulder throbbing like an immediate reminder.

Seeing the brunet switching between angrily shouting at a wrench and smiling brightly at the successfully removed tire only a few seconds apart, letting his surroundings read him like an open book. Wasn’t that man aware just how dangerous that could be? Anyone could see right through him like that. The asset paused. What was that feeling in his chest. Why was the thought of the brunet being so careless unsettle him? 

The asset watched the huffing mechanic lift his shirt to wipe the sweat of his face, revealing a toned body glistering in the burning afternoon sun. The asset had to swallow down some excessively building saliva as he readjusted his position, when a hot wave rushed through his already over-heated body. 

Through the scope the asset could trace sinew curves leading down towards narrow hips and sharp cut v-lines disappearing in the low hanging jeans. The heat, that was spreading through the asset’s veins began to pool in the pit of his stomach, making him swallow hard.

It took more effort, than it should have for the asset to tear away his gaze from the casual display of well-trained body, that looked like one of the statues he had seen inside hydras upper floors. Looking at the short man’s face made him wonder, if not redirecting his attention to something, anything else but the brunet had been the right decision, because what he saw made the assets face heat up, taking his breath away. 

Sparkling brown doe eyes, laugh lines, as well as worry lines telling the man’s life story causing an eery familiarity to fill the assets mind. The peculiar goatee framing the dazzling smile had the assets heart skip a beat. Who was the brunet? Why was he causing the assets body to change temperature so much? The man was a threat to the assets mission. He wasn’t fully operational as long as the brunet was around. He knew he needed to take the man out.

The moment the realization hit him, the asset felt his stomach drop and twist. He would have turned around and left, if that had been an option, but it would give away his position, so he stayed and watched the smirking man look around as he put away the broken tire, ignoring the twitch in his finger close to the trigger. He knew he had to, but something deep within him was fighting tooth and nail to throw the riffle away and run. 

The asset was paralyzed, he didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t decide. Didn’t know how to decide. The asset wasn’t to decide. The asset was to follow orders. To obey his handler’s decision. He knew that. He knew what would happen, if he would go against this rule. Uncontrollable fear making the asset tremble. He tightened his grip on the riffle, trying to concentrate on the man in the scope’s cross-hair. For a moment the asset feared bright eyes had spotted him, as chocolate brown orbs glances into the line of fire, but just as the asset was about to pull the trigger the short man turned around again.

The asset let out a shaky breath, his hand falling to the ground, desperately clutching the ground, still he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the short man, who was brushing of the dust of his jeans with a hearty laugh and a victory sign towards the shaded van. Something about the mock salute he gave into the vehicle’s direction was eery familiar. The pounding in the back of the assets mind spiked, white noise starting to fill his ears. He tried to blink away the black spots starting to form in the corner of his vision without success.

The sand underneath the assets body turned icy cold, the stifling desert air was replaced by a biting gust. He was perched underneath some pine trees, the riffle and scope already set up. The asset was confused. He didn’t remember this mission. Who was he aiming at? What were his orders? His head was starting to pound. Something wasn’t right.

A shot followed by more firing pulled the assets attention back to the scene unfolding in front of him. Without thinking he took the riffle, aim at the men jumping into his scopes field of vision. Aim. Shoot. Reload. Aim. Shot. Reload. Aim. Shot. Reload. 

The asset watched himself take out one target after the other until only one man remained on the field. The asset expected himself to finish what him off as well, but his finger still close to the loaded riffled trigger didn’t move. Instead, he watched through the scope as the figure dressed in an impractical blue suit adjusted a shield on his back, painted like the targets in shooting ranges the asset had practiced before, before saluting directly into the asset’s direction. Who was that man? Why was he giving away the assets position so bluntly? Was he an enemy? No, the man was smiling, and the asset felt himself huff in annoyance, that was immediately followed by warm fondness rise in his chest. He could feel a smirk tug on the corner of his mouth, as he returned the salute into the strange man’s direction, who couldn’t possibly see him, before scrambling to his feet in a hurry, because someone was starting to shoot at him. 

The asset felt himself move, felt cold wind gush round him as he dodged bullets as he jumped over fallen trees with a giddy laugh. He was running. Not like he usually did, perusing a target or fleeing a mission’s scene. No, he was feeling free, light-headed. Adrenalin was flooding him, making him feel invincible as he jumped over another log blocking his path, with more effort than the asset was used to. Why was he panting so hard? Was his body non-functional? Where was he running to? Why didn’t he kill the oddly dressed man, who had nearly gotten the asset killed?

The assets saw himself arrive at a camp side; a woman was waiting for him. She was talking, but the asset couldn’t hear a word. His vision grew cloudy with every breath taken until the asset felt his body give out. 

A loud thud pulled the asset out of hazy pictures flitting in and out of his conscious. Suddenly the he was back in the dessert, underneath the tarp, still looking through the scope, where the short brunet had just closed the trunk of the van. His breathing was ragged and his heart was beating like it only did after intense days-long drills he had to undertake so Hydra’s scientists could test the assets endurance. 

He tried to steady his breathing but the headache was getting stronger. Bile was rising in his throat, only cutting of more of the already meagre air supply. The images of people dressed in uniform the asset couldn’t recall filled his mind more and more as the surroundings began to get blurry. Dusty plateaus transformed into snowy mountains before turning back again. the mechanics mop of chestnut hair shifted into a short, blond coif, just as chocolate brown eyes changed into sky blue, looking at him in benevolence. 

The blond man was talking, but just like the woman before he couldn’t hear a word he was saying. The asset tried to read his lips without success, cold panic spreading through his body. What was going on? Who was that man? What was he saying? 

Blue turned brown again. Big doe eyes were looking at the asset. The mechanic? No, it wasn’t the mechanic. ‘Hey, you ok?’ a velvety voice weaved its way through the haze. The asset turned around in frantic panic only to see, that he was still lying alone underneath the trap. Where did it come from? Why did it sound so familiar? Why his body warming up?

The asset squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the onslaught of pictures of brown curls in his lap, of tear-filled eyes looking at him in desperation. His senses were playing tricks on him, the asset had been exposed to the sun for a long time. Usually, things like that shouldn’t be a problem, but the asset was struggling for air, his chest suddenly too tight, heart clenching painfully at every new, broken fragment of a memory trying to break through the hazy fog, that was the assets mind. 

The asset didn’t move, couldn’t move, his body exhausted like he didn’t remember it being ever before. The asset watched the smiling brunet disappear into the van. He kept his gaze fixed on the spot, where the target should have sunken to the ground the moment the vehicles door had opened. He knew he had failed. The target was still alive. The mission had failed. A premonition was seeping through every tense muscle, causing tremors to run through the assets body. 

He didn’t move for a long time even after the engine noises had drifted off into the desert wind. When he was sure no one was around anymore, the asset turned around to lie flat on his back, pushing the tarp to the side, so he could look up into the clear blue sky. The mission had failed. There was no way of telling, when the next chance to take out the Shield-Director would arise.

The asset closed his eyes, letting his mind wander back to warm brown eyes, crinkling at the corner. He replayed the foreign fragment where the short brunets had been so close to his ear, like he had been standing next to him. ‘Hey, you ok?’ three words. Three words spoken with so much concern.  
The asset couldn’t stop himself from shaking his head as his breaths got more erratic. Why was he asking the asset? It didn’t matter as long as the asset was in operational condition. ‘Hey, you ok?’ the gentle voice didn’t stop. His mind replaying the question over and over again, until the asset felt the knot, that had been tightening around his chest pop free. The small voice in the back of his mind crying out the ugly truth the asset had tried to shut his eyes to.

He wasn’t ok. Something wasn’t ok with him. His body wasn’t operating as it should. He didn’t know how to make it stop. He had disobeyed his handler. He shouldn’t have, but he did, because bright shimmering eyes had been looking at him. Eyes he had seen before. Ones he couldn’t bring himself to see in pain, because the warm light in them was making the asset feel warm as well, chasing away cold shadows that always loomed over him like a predator only waiting for a chance, a single sign of weakness. 

The asset squeezed his eyes shut, his hands buried in the sandy ground trying to find anything to get a hold on, but just like his mind trying to focus on the brunet’s face, that had started to blur again, the sand was running through his fingers inexorably. 

The asset was still lying on the rocky plateau, when two of hydras agents appeared next to him, kicking him into his flank before demanding the status report. Taking to long for his answer earned him the first hard backhand as he was pulled to his feet. He didn’t resist, because resistance would only make it worse, even though the asset knew those two, no matter what they did would come close to the punishment for a failed mission, that was awaiting him. 

The asset didn’t fight the two men using him as punching bag. Didn’t resist them as he was dragged into the waiting van. He kept silent, when they drove him back to the facility, where his handler was already waiting for him. The baton resting in the short man’s hand didn’t make it hard to guess, what the asset would have to expect, when the mission was reported as failed. 

The metal arm was deactivated the moment he entered the bunker, leaving the asset slightly dizzy with the sudden numbness. He was led forward until he stood in front of his handler. A blunt hit to the outside of his knee forced the asset to his knees. ‘Mission report.’ The command was spat out as the short man eyed the assets face. ‘Миссия провалена.’ 

He had seen the backhand coming, still the signet ring stung as he cut through the assets skin. ‘Why?’ his handler was blazing with fury as he tightened the grip on the eagerly waiting baton. It didn’t matter what the asset had to say, he would get punished. ‘Я не мог причинить ему вреда.’ 

The electric shocks bolting through him with ever unbidding impact of the baton still hitting him full force. The voice in the assets mind was screaming at every contact, crying, bagging for the asset to fight. He could have fought back. He was made to fight after all. He wouldn’t need his arm to take out the man, who was about to take another swing at him, but resistance always worsened the punishment. His handler would eventually tire himself out and the asset would heal, they had programmed him to do so.  
The asset didn’t know when he was thrown into another room, only that at some point the electricity loaded impacts had stopped, before his limp body was dragged away. Every muscle in his body felt raw and open from the high voltage, that had been forced through them. Some ribs were broken and the shoulder, where the dead weight of the deactivated arm was attached to was aching bad enough for the asset to consider clawing it off of himself, if he had the strength left for that. 

He pressed his eyes shut, willing away the dull pain thrumming through his body in favour of thinking about laugh lines and kind eyes looking at the asset. He rolled into his back keeping his eyes close, pretending to lie on the warm sandy ground of the desert instead of the cold concrete floor. The movement caused a fresh wave of pain to crash down on him. Unconsciousness was ready to stake her claim, when the door opened again, before the two men that had entered jerked the asset upright, pushing him into a chair. He wanted to open his eyes, but everything hurt and he was just so, so tiered. 

Something cool closed around his head. It was a relieve to his throbbing head, where bumps were quickly beginning to form. The last images of the gently smiling disappeared as white pain shot through the darkness, which had already tried to take a hold on the assets mind. The searing burn leaving his mind aching with only one wish: ‘Пожалуйста, дай мне вспомнить.’

**Author's Note:**

> Миссия провалена : Mission failed  
> Я не мог причинить ему вреда. : I couldn't hurt him.  
> Пожалуйста, дай мне вспомнить. : Please let me remember.


End file.
